


Appendix A

by 3RatMoon



Series: A Case Study on the Space Between Life and Death Post-Erasure [2]
Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Masturbation, Walking In On Someone, feelings??? what are those???, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 00:04:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12593568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3RatMoon/pseuds/3RatMoon
Summary: When rooming with a ghost, mistakes are bound to happen.





	Appendix A

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy this first of likely many extra stories for the Ghost Arrell AU! This one takes place while Arrell is supposedly out of commission in Chapter Five.

Arrell lost himself again. It was frustrating– no,  _ humiliating _ , that he couldn’t hold himself together outside of the apartment that had become his prison after this long. No, instead, he nearly  _ attacked _ Alyosha, the tenant after him and his only contact since waking. Thankfully, he did not get quite that far lost, and once the moment had passed, he was able to follow Alyosha back home, groping helplessly for his voice in the smothering darkness between Life and Death. Even after he knew he was safely back at Wistful Peaks, the apparent anchor for his spirit, the priest was the only presence he could feel. For a long time, Arrell couldn’t let go of that last connection, but eventually he was able to let himself withdraw and rest where he couldn’t feel anything at all.

He recovered quickly this time. His will unfolded easily, like a flower in sunlight, and he was able to deduce by the state of the apartment and the angle of the setting sun that slightly more than a day had passed. Alyosha was writing at his desk, and Arrell could see some tension in his shoulders, but he was otherwise well. Despite knowing he hadn’t done anything to the man, he was still relieved.

Arrell simply listened to the sound of Alyosha’s pen for a while, idle and content the way that the newly-awake sometimes are. But as his mind cleared, he was drawn to watch, reading the letters Alyosha wrote– several, if the small stack of folded parchment was any indicator. Arrell thought he recognized a couple of the names, following the simple pattern of the Exarch’s elegant hand as much as the pleasant updates and aimless thoughts Alyosha seemed to enjoy.

After Alyosha blew over the ink on his finished letter and began to fold it, Arrell saw the note hiding beneath it, addressed to him.

 

> _ Tutor, _
> 
> _ I hope you are alright. I have to go to the church tomorrow, but know that you are in my thoughts always. _
> 
> _ -Alyosha _

 

It wasn’t a letter so much as a call, or an open door– something for Arrell to respond to. And he  _ wanted _ to respond, but the mere thought of picking up the pen to write exhausted him. So, he just watched as Alyosha dressed down for the night, climbing into bed to read for a while before sleep took him.

He had to strain to, but he reached out with what energy he had to extinguish the candle Alyosha had forgotten.

 

When Arrell woke again, Alyosha was still asleep, but the sky was light with the coming dawn. Arrell tried to write to Alyosha, but the pen slipped from his hand several times before he just knocked it off the desk to satisfy his frustration and slunk back to the empty corner he had been occupying. This stage, when he was no longer completely oblivious to his surroundings but still too weak to act upon them, was always the most grating on his nerves.

A soft noise from Alyosha’s throat broke the quiet in the apartment, and sheets rustled as he turned onto his back. He would probably wake soon, Arrell thought, and tried to ignore how he anticipated it. He went back to the desk, reading over the notes and books the priest had left open for what was possibly the fifth time.

Arrell, deeply bored, was contemplating trying to move the pen again when Alyosha spoke.

“Tutor,” he called.

Arrell was at his bedside at an instant, but Alyosha was the same as he had been– one hand resting on his chest, his face turned slightly away, light hair splayed over the pillow. So he had been talking in his sleep, then. That would make it the second time in the past couple weeks, after months of watching the priest without a single instance. Strange.

Arrell started to turn away, but then Alyosha shifted and made a sound that was quite obscene.

The wizard froze, rapidly flipping through possible causes and responses. 

He must be dreaming. 

He should wake him, then. 

Should he? 

Yes! Why question it? 

It’s close enough to morning, anyway. 

How, then? 

What was he  _ dreaming? _

No, don’t think of it, find something to wake him.

Thankfully, though, Arrell didn’t need to use any of his strength to try and knock something over loud enough to wake Alyosha, because the man startled awake on his own not a moment later. Arrell watched as Alyosha glanced around the apartment, his heavy breath slowly calming. When the Exarch laid back against the pillows and groaned, rubbing at his eyes, it was a sound of the tired rising too early for their liking, not anything else.

Sleepily, Alyosha rose from his bed to check the note left on the desk. His quiet, worried sigh upon seeing his letter unanswered made Arrell want to curse aloud, at the pen, at himself and his weakness, and perhaps the sun as well, for good measure. He was bored beyond measure, and would have  _ liked _ to converse with the priest. Even though he was a man of the Creed and naive beyond his years, Alyosha was well-read and sharp of mind. Really, it was fortunate that the soul that should take residence in the space to which he was currently tethered would be one of such quality as Alyosha.

Now, if only Arrell could get his damned hand to  _ write... _

Instead, he seethed in quiet isolation and watched Alyosha climb back in bed, pulling up the covers to ward off the morning chill. The priest rarely went back to sleep once he was awake, but he seemed to have chosen to at least rest awhile longer, the back of his hand resting against his head and his unfocused gaze pointed at the ceiling. The early morning light fell soft across his face, and Arrell found it quite striking. Arrell knew that he once was fairly skilled at recreating one’s likeness, but he hadn’t yet had the chance to try again since this strange second life of his began. Certainly not  _ now _ … Eventually, he turned away, directing his focus at his old library, still intact, in hopes that the titles would spark some interesting memories to mull over.

That was when Alyosha made the noise again.

Arrell’s attention was yanked back to him immediately. He was still in bed, one leg up and bent at the knee, a hand over his mouth, his face contorted in what Arrell would have interpreted as pain, if not for the shadow of movement under the covers, and the unmistakable sound of skin on skin.

The sight drove all logic from the wizard’s mind, leaving him with only panicked instinct, and he fled to outside, where the path connecting all of the apartments in the tower spiraled slowly downward. It was quiet there, the architecture and just-risen sun creating a pattern of gold cut with sharp purple shadows. Arrell would normally find it inspiring, but his mind was still racing, able to feel the strain of just this small distance from his anchor, and able to feel the hotspot of Alyosha’s presence there.

There were only two possibilities. Either Alyosha didn’t know Arrell was there, and was seeking release as people often do, or he  _ did _ know, and he… 

It didn’t make sense. He had been Awake for months, including a few before he even started to attempt communication with the intruder in his home, and there was never an incident like this. Was there? Could his early memory have been so poor? Or was Alyosha simply so lucky as to be able to satisfy his needs elsewhere most times? There was not a church of Holy Sex Workers in the Creed as far as Arrell knew, and nothing suggested that Alyosha had an active partner in the city (nor abroad, if the letters Arrell had read over the priest’s shoulder were any indication).

And again, if he  _ did _ know Arrell was there, he certainly did not leave a note. Did he just expect him to  _ leave? _ Did he expect him to–

No. Absolutely not.

Gods. He was feeling dizzy.

His new existence as a spectre rendered so much of his vocabulary obsolete. Did he see without any eyes, hear without ears? He felt the weight of his robes, but it was just habit his mind clung to. He felt but it was just the  _ memory _ of feeling, his flesh just the memory of flesh. Any reactions he had were just… were just… 

He took a not-breath and let it out, trying to center himself.

When he re-entered the apartment, Alyosha was up, cleaning his face. He had his vestments on and his bed was made, like nothing had happened. Arrell was willing enough to pretend, and watched from his usual vantage points as the priest continued his morning ritual. Tea, the new and less effective one. A fairly spare breakfast. Some reading, which Arrell was embarrassingly thrilled by only because it gave him something new to look over without having to spend the energy turning the page. A few extra notes from Alyosha, too.

When the Exarch finally left for his work at the church, Arrell felt his loss acutely. The room was still and dark, the windows and curtains closed for the day to keep out the heat best they could. Arrell spent time looking at the new pages open in the books and practicing what spellforms he could remember. He knew he knew more than what he could recall, and he was determined to practice until he could recount every one. He had to be in top shape, even as a spectre, as soon as he could. He had to be ready for  _ anything _ because–

...He wasn’t sure why.

Why was irrelevant, though. He would regain his previous strength, he just needed to keep working.

Still, determined as he was, he couldn’t keep his mind off of earlier that morning. Arrell found Alyosha to be an attractive man, of course, but it was rarely at the forefront of his mind. Most of the time, it was just when Alyosha was on one of his horrible teasing streaks, when he smiled prettily and spoke  _ so _ sweetly even as he  _ knew _ he was bothering him. It was maddening.

Even so, the way Alyosha made him feel then was nothing to what he felt seeing Alyosha that morning, caught in such an earthly and mortal act but so radiant as well… Just the thought gave Arrell the memory of heat in his gut, of a jump in his chest, blood rushing where blood no longer existed.

Would that instead of Alyosha’s hand, it was  _ his _ making Alyosha’s face contort with pleasure,  _ his _ lips muffling Alyosha’s cries–

Arousal ran hot through Arrell, the memory of blood like fire in every pore, and it didn’t make  _ sense _ , but he was achingly hard, and when he pulled aside his robes to touch himself, the sparks of pleasure felt much the same.

He masturbated furiously for a while, coming two, maybe three times. Memory and fantasy bled into each other; Alyosha’s hair on the pillow, Alyosha’s lips on his, Alyosha pressing against him, frantic with pleasure, Alyosha crying out his name. When Arrell finally stopped, he felt sated, but also confused and embarrassed and tired in a bodily way he didn’t understand.

Arrell’s ghostly form made things strange. He would see the marks of his seed on the floor after he came, but if he forgot for a moment, they would be gone. With a thought, his robes would disappear, but often he would feel the weight of them bunched around his hips again later.

It was frustrating, how he kept finding new and strange ways that the world and even his own life moved and changed out of his control. He spent several minutes just banishing and recalling his robes before he realized how absurd it was and let out an irritated groan that caused the books to shudder in their bookcases. He felt ever more like he was wasting his time. He needed to work, to get back his power, because– because–

He didn’t know. He just felt useless otherwise.

He just stayed still for a while, listless. But eventually, he got up again, too restless to submit to his frustrations for long.

He read.

He practiced.

And, eventually, with the setting of the sun, Alyosha returned.


End file.
